“He has all his friends, nearly the whole damn village, covering up his lies for him. I’ve heard them joking about it. How the American girl had rules about dating, and he lied about who he was so you would give him a chance. Has he told you the truth now that he’s got a ring on you?”

Thinking this was just some sick, bitter attempt to cause misery, I huffed, “You’re unbelievable.”

“He hasn’t,” West surmised, crossing his big arms over his chest. “Ask him, lass. Ask him his age. Ask him how much younger he is. But more importantly ask him if he was ever planning to tell you that you’re not only marrying into a fortune, you’re marrying into a baronetcy.”

I leaned away from him, shaking my head.

No.

He was lying.

West sighed. “His father is Sir William George Robson, the twelfth Baronet of Alnster, and when he dies, Roane will be Sir Roane Robson, and if you marry him, you’ll be addressed as Lady Robson.”

If this was a lie . . . it was a very colorful one.

“Ask him, lass,” he repeated before striding by me.

Sick to my stomach, I hurried toward the bookstore. My heart was racing and pounding so fast and hard in my chest, I thought I might throw up. I couldn’t remember even getting to the store.

Yet suddenly I was there. In the apartment, staring at Caro.

She stopped in the middle of pouring batter into cake pans as she looked at me. “Evie, what’s wrong?”

My throat felt dry, rasping as I forced the words out. “Is it true? Is Roane wealthy? Is he the heir to a title?”

Her face paled as she stepped back from the counter. “Evie . . . he’s been trying to tell you.”

The bags in my hands dropped, and the room spun.

Oh my God.

What was I doing? How had I not seen he was keeping secrets?

It looked like I didn’t know Roane Robson at all.

Twenty-Five

Everything felt unreal, the wall and the wood burner merging into one as I stared into space with the cold mug of tea between my hands.

I’d vaguely been aware of Caro calling Roane, sticking a cup of tea in front of me, and packing up her stuff. She left a few moments before with the promise that Roane would be there to explain everything.

Explain everything.

How could he explain this?

When I heard feet pounding up the stairs followed by the familiar clack of dog nails on hardwood, the wall and fireplace unmerged as my vision came back into focus.

I looked toward the doorway as Roane entered the apartment, Shadow skipping across the floor toward me. Numb with shock I could only stare at the dog as he put his face close to mine.

“Hey, boy,” I whispered hoarsely.